Listen to the quiet between the passing cars.
Listen to the quiet after the neighbors argue.
.
Feel the rough pod before you break open the milkweed.
Rest before speaking.
(Under the blister, soft skin is healing.)
.
Under the noise you will hear
The soft breathing of God waiting
For you to touch Her.
Tim looked down as he came over the knell
And a tiny man with shears was squatting there.
.
Tim stopped in amazement and stared,
And as he did, the tiny man leaned over his shadow.
.
Tim’s shadow stopped right at the tiny man’s feet
And the tiny man began to cut away the shadow of Tim’s head.
.
Too amazed to move, Tim stood and watched
As the tiny man carefully removed Tim’s shadow head.
.
Tim’s amazement changed to fear and dread.
Smiling, the tiny man rolled up Tim’s shadow head.
.
Tim began to jump in alarm, as did his shadow,
Except for the head which the tiny man carried away,
While waving a thank-you and good-bye.
.
(with thanks to an Irishman who told a story)
Black Madonna of Czestochowa
.
.Creation is the fruit of thy womb.
Painful memories and the souls’ dark spaces –
The fly in the spider’s web –
No suffering is ignored,
No despair unfelt by you,
No grief belittled.
.
There is no place where Your face does not appear.
Visions of jeweled trees are visions.
Visions of dreaming gods are visions.
I have one vision.
.
With open eyes I see life in quiet stones.
Every pebble sits.
Every green tree sits and breathes.
Everywhere is a great Waiting.
Rage, anger, sadness are everywhere
And everywhere stillness, love and surrender.
I hate autumn.
The colors, the wind, the chill, the wilted plants.
Autumn is the drama queen of the year,
Always in crisis,
Flinging beauty about recklessly.
.
Autumn gets under your skin.
Sneakier than winter, more glamorous than spring.
Deceitful, unlike steady, predictable summer.
Your body rebels, gets hungry, dry, tired.
Bones really can get cold.
.
Hard earth, rotten crab apples, smacked pumpkins,
Cold floor in the morning, hot floor by the fire.
Autumn brings discomfort, irritation, stinky sweaters,
Dark afternoons, garbage tipped over, the cat goes
In and out, in and out, in and out baffled by the cold.
.
Okay, so the kids scrape through the crunchy leaves.
The dog is friskier, the sky is blindingly clear,
The stars almost touch the garden ground.
The roof stops leaking. No more mowing.
I don’t care, I still hate autumn.
Rupture breaks through the skin,
Bleeds, leaves a gash, cools.
Comes to rest.
On my back the cooled flow
Creates a ridge, a gap.
I watch the searing glow solidify,
A map of its path across flesh.
I scratch the scab to see inside,
The raw wet pain of my body,
Your body in pain, this thin place,
Where we each live, the wellspring
We share.
What a Tree Is
“Beloved, gaze in thine own heart,
The holy tree is growing there….” Yeats
Nothing is just what it is.
Look at that tree.
See centuries of meaning on its bark,
Put there by poets since cave dwellers.
Those meanings stay secret
Without poets. Poets reveal them:
Scribbled on napkins and notebooks,
Composed in showers, in the park,
The poets find longing and history,
Myth and other Truths, like yeast in bread.
Look at that tree:
The aching cragginess of its branches,
The leaves shaken off and discarded.
Did you know trees lose their leaves each year
Because one winter, they would not shelter a sparrow?
Except for the pine. Peel that story right off the bark.
Give it to your children to keep. More will grow.
Two monks sat silently
Under a tree, their disciples around them.
Finally, one monk pointed up and said to the other,
“They call that a tree!” And they laughed
And laughed.
The international conference on the climate is being held in Lima, Peru.
This poem is by Black Elk.
Hey! Lean to hear my feeble voice.
At the center of the sacred hoop
You have said that I should make the tree to bloom.
With tears running, O Great Spirit, my Grandfather,
With running eyes I must say
The tree has never bloomed
Here I stand, and the tree is withered.
Again, I recall the great vision you gave me.
It may be that some little root of the sacred tree still lives.
Nourish it then
That it may leaf
And bloom
And fill with singing birds!
Hear me, that the people may once again
Find the good road
And the shielding tree.
BLACK ELK
Roberts, Elizabeth; Amidon, Elias (2011-04-26). Earth Prayers: 365 Prayers, Poems, and Invocations from Around the World (p. 86). HarperCollins. Kindle Edition.
Part of “30 poems in November” fundraiser for The Center for New Americans (www.cna.com). Support them by clicking: http://www.razoo.com/story/poems-for-dollars. Thanks.
J –
At work –
Sorry didn’t do dishes –
Dog fed
Cat out –
Back 6:30
Love
……
A –
Went to board meeting –
Dog is fed –
Cat out –
Toby called
Will do dishes when I get home –
I love you
J –
Took dog for walk –
be back soon –
Don’t know where cat is –
Sorry about dishes
Love you
A –
Visiting Mom –
Took dog –
Cat outside I think –
Dishes soaking –
Watch stupid TV tonight?
Love you so much
J –
Your sister called yesterday – forgot to tell you
Dog not fed –
Dishes not done – sorry –
Don’t wake me up
Love and kisses –
A –
Went to look for cat –
We’re out of dog food –
I did dishes except for pots –
“Mystery” on PBS tonight –
popcorn?
LOVE
The leaders flounder on their tipsy sight.
Like a small boat on rough seas,
The leaders ride the waves in helplessness.
…
When the tide rises and pushes them forward,
They decide, “This is the direction we must go.”
But the shore never appears and
The undercurrent carries them away.
…
“Oh, this is the direction we are meant to travel,”
They grip the sides of the thrashing boat, calling,
“This way! This way! Follow me! Trust in me!”
To the empty sea around them.
A Poet's Indulgence 